Ask the sun and the moon, the stars that shine
by whathobertie
Summary: She wonders what happened last night, but he is reluctant to share. (Post 'The Canary's Song' Fic) Cal/Gillian, romance.


**TITLE:** Ask the sun and the moon, the stars that shine**  
GENRE:** Romance**  
CHARACTERS:** Cal, Gillian**  
PAIRING:** Cal/Gillian**  
RATING:** PG-13**  
SPOILERS:** None**  
WORDS:** 2,300**  
SUMMARY:** She wonders what happened last night, but he is reluctant to share. (Post _'The Canary's Song' _Fic)

* * *

… _what's to become of it, this love of mine?_

Cautious steps take her through the open door—the one she carefully closes behind her—and further through his den made of dark wood and possibly even darker thoughts. He watches her, every move and every tiny twitch of every facial muscle, but what he can see is nothing.

She stops in front of his desk and there is a nervous energy flooding the room. He can't tell if it's her or him emitting it, yet maybe it's just that both of their misgivings collide in the air between them.

"How you're doing?" he asks and is honestly intrigued.

"Headache, dry mouth, hit by a rather huge and unpleasant garbage truck—you know the rundown."

Indeed he does. "Remember much?"

"Had some scotch with Ria. Then had some more. Then went out to count the stars."

"You counted a whole lot of them. I was suddenly worried about usually leaving the important numbers of this business to you."

"My mathematical skills were diminished, I admit. I remember you strolling in with that silly helmet, but it's pretty much a black box after that. Did you bring me home?"

"I did," he reveals, but nothing else. His voice is somber for reasons he likes to hide even from himself.

But she catches it and now she is intrigued as well, that little line between her eyebrows becoming more prominent. "Care to share what happened after I made some wrong assumptions about the universe?"

He thinks about it.

* * *

**Alternative 1**

"I get better looking every day." She breathed it, resulting in not much more than a hoarse whisper, and he recognized his own words. They sounded better when rolling off her tongue, though, he thought and watched her blink in slow motion.

He stepped closer and couldn't be sure whether it was a gentle wind or her breath grazing his cheek in a delicate touch. "You're mighty drunk," he whispered back and got hold of her shoulders to steady her on tipsy bare feet.

"And you're mighty—," she stopped and furrowed her brow, "I can't think of anything."

"Just mighty is fine." She giggled and nearly fell over, but he got her like he always did. "Time to go home, darling."

"Already?" Her expression of disapproval ended in something comical.

"End of the party; you're the last one standing." He let go of her shoulders and motioned for her to take his hand, but she didn't seem to understand right away.

"What about you? You're—you're still standing as well."

"I was late to the party, so I don't count." His fingers touched hers, almost asking for permission, and this time she understood and held onto his hand for support and maybe some more. His gaze went down to the floor of the terrace. "Are you sure you don't want to wear the shoes?"

"Yeah, sure. Are you going to carry them for me?"

He bent down and picked them up, making sure nothing else was forgotten, and led her back inside. After spreading a blanket over sleeping Torres and turning off the lights, he took Gillian's hand again and walked with her side by side through the empty hallways.

"You're an excellent shoe carrier," she declared at one point and giggled some more.

"Thank you, I'm a man of many talents. Gambler, miner, bearer of women's accessories."

For reasons unknown to him it made her snicker on and on until she eventually fell asleep on the passenger seat of his car. He looked over to her—slouched in a more or less comfortable position—and marveled at how the streetlights of D.C. gently illuminated her features.

* * *

**Alternative 2**

"I get better looking every day." Clipped and precise, with a little slur thrown in that made it all the more adorable.

He swallowed and nodded his head in a barely recognizable movement, watching her with an intensity that made his own skin prickle. His eyes wandered over every ever so tiny extent of her face that they possibly could. He could read nothing, but there was no need to.

She turned off the lamp on his hat and eventually he stepped closer, being able to take in all of her sweet scent. There was a little distance left, however, and he filled it with some words only whispered. "You do," he said and waited for her to look back up right into his eyes, "no lie there."

"No lie," she repeated and locked her eyes with his. It got all the more intense now that they were so close to each other.

He reached out and gently took her left hand. Covering her skin with circles drawn by his thumb felt almost natural. "What are we doing here?" he asked, but while the words quietly fell out of his mouth, his mind had already decided that he didn't want an answer. Still, he couldn't take them back.

"No lies," she just repeated again, but after some seconds of intense staring he realized that she meant something different this time.

He felt her breath drawing in even closer, bridging the remaining distance until there was none. His eyes were closed by the time her lips softly pressed against his, but despite the warm feeling it created somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he found it impossible to turn off his head and the voices within.

He still held her hand, let her lips linger on his for just a little longer, but before she was ready to make the next move, he averted his head slightly until the kiss turned into one of those more innocent ones on the corner of their mouths.

She did look disappointed once there was some distance and maybe even some sense again.

His heart beat heavily against his ribcage, but other than that there was total silence. The music had stopped, the traffic down below on the streets of D.C. didn't even exist anymore. He let his eyes wander once again and nothing had changed, really. "Sorry," he said in the end. So quietly, he didn't want the world to hear.

Her lower lip moved forward in a little pout. "You're such a gentleman, Cal Lightman."

"You wish."

"All in the wrong moments." She said it as if it wasn't the first time she ever had that thought. She took an unsteady step back and more or less successfully put her shoes on again. Then her eyes went back to him. "If you insist on being a gentleman, then the least you can do is bring me home." The words could have sounded spiteful, but instead she just made them endearing and added a lopsided grin.

He smiled back, not exactly able to answer, and still more than caught in a moment he had wanted to go on without the repercussions of tomorrow. He took her hand and guided her through the door, back inside past Torres sleeping peacefully on the couch, and past letters spelling out his name with more confidence that there really was. At least when it came to her.

She watched him in the car. From the passenger seat and with an intense stare his skin burned under. Like she wanted to see what was really behind the exterior so carefully kept up—or like she already did.

He let her watch, looking back occasionally, but never quite sure what was going on.

"You're a man of mystery," she said eventually and turned around to study the streets of her neighborhood for the first time, "but I know you, Cal Lightman."

* * *

**Alternative 3**

"I get better looking every day." The sensual tone that resonated with the words was not lost on him. Neither was the almost intimate way in which she switched off his hat lamp. It was raw and magnetic. And it drew him to her like flies to the light.

Just one step and he was so close that personal space wasn't even in the equation anymore. He could smell his scotch on her and he wondered what it would taste like on her lips. He blinked slowly, as if to hold on to the moment that threatened to escape from him too soon already.

He smiled and she returned the expression.

"Don't you wanna say something to that?" she inquired with her voice just above a whisper.

"That I agree?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Well, matter of fact, I don't." He swallowed and watched what was happening on her face.

She narrowed her eyes—clearly more intrigued than offended by his words. "That's a bit rude, don't you think?"

He put on another lazy smile. "Nah. Just think you look the best you possibly could at any given moment. Right now—" His voice trailed off and he wasn't even sure if he had wanted to say anything more.

"Yeah?" she breathed back and came up even closer, her lips just a heartbeat away now.

"Yeah." Nothing more, just that. His eyes wandered down to her lips, then back up again. He closed them, waiting for the impact.

But nothing happened in the moments that followed. He could still hear the music, even still feel her breath so close to his skin, but he didn't get to taste the remaining hints of the scotch he was longing for.

She was still there when he opened his eyes. She was as close as before, just no bit closer. Something in her eyes sparkled and the hint of a smile flitted across her lips. "You thought I was going to kiss you, didn't you?"

He was wide awake and alert in just a matter of milliseconds, just staring at her, with only broken fragments of thoughts running through his head.

Her lips curled into a full grin then. "You did! I'm so good. I can outwit the FBI. I can even fool you."

He still had some trouble, but he caught his breath again. "You're cruel. They'd say I was the one, but it's really you."

There was the throaty sound of a laugh washed out by a little too much booze. "Are you bringing me home?"

"No. I'll guide you the way with the lights of my car, while you take the sidewalk."

Her drunken, but somewhat adorable smile simply continued. "See, you can be more cruel than I will ever be. Ever."

"Matter of perspective, love." He took the high heels still dangling from one of her hands, making her follow him back inside.

He didn't let her walk of course, and instead stole an innocent kiss from her on the doorstep to her home about 20 minutes later.

She smiled—tired and out-of-this-worldly. "I still win."

* * *

"Nothing happened." The simple words he decides on.

"Nothing?" Her face spells out that she isn't convinced a bit. Not by the strained tone of his voice, nor by the fidgeting of his hands.

"Yeah," he confirms once more, and this time it feels a little easier to believe that it is the actual truth. Or might at least be. Lying gets easier the more you do it.

"Are you mad about that bottle of scotch?"

"Are you gonna pay for it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"In this case, I am. I might forgive you, though."

She smiles and steps away from his desk, but her movements are still made out of caution and concern. He can sense that the end of all this won't be so simple. And he sees it confirmed as soon as she is just one or maybe two steps away from the door.

She turns to him again, but waits a beat or two before the words actually find their way to the surface. "Are you sure nothing happened?"

He nods and raises his eyebrows at the same time. "Yeah, you were a little tipsy, I brought you home, that's it. End of story."

He can see how she detects the double confirmation of nothing having happened. He can see her thinking about it, but she goes on without giving her thought a voice and reaches for the door.

One second. Another one. He doesn't know what to do, his brain drained from a sleepless night.

A flicker of doubt does not easily vanish from her face. "I embarrassed myself, didn't I?" she asks with a carefree smile, but it's a more serious concern underneath.

He shakes his head, relieved that it's just that on her mind. "No, you're very charming when you're drunk. Unlike me." Through all of the words, his smile is a weird mix of sad and heartening—even to himself.

"You have your charming moments while being drunk. Remember when we won the Bergstrom case?"

He remembers winning it, but not much else of the night of celebration.

"Told me you couldn't have done it without me and that you truly, truly loved me." She makes a face with big puppy dog eyes that remind him of the pugs he used to own.

His hearts skips a beat, then another. But his façade is intact—years of training and such. "I must have been so drunk that I'd already left the nasty stage behind."

She does that little shoulder shrug. "Or you were just being honest. You really wouldn't have won that case without me. Woman's touch and all that."

She smiles and leaves, and all he can do is watch her go, staring into an empty space, lost in thoughts about last night and an impossible future nobody can know yet.

Somewhere a bird is still singing, and a song is still playing, while two people meet in the darkness and set the world alight with the sparks they emit. Under the sun and the moon, and the stars that shine.

**THE END**


End file.
